


Paint Her Like One of Your French Girls

by veroniquemagique



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: F/F, For Shits and Giggles, Painting, This is just a silly little fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 15:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10620114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veroniquemagique/pseuds/veroniquemagique
Summary: Frankie decides that Count Drinkula is no longer an appropriate representation of her roommate, and asks Grace to let her paint her.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TooBookishToHandle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooBookishToHandle/gifts).



> This was just a silly idea I had, although I could see Frankie asking Grace if she could paint her. I also wrote this to make Jay feel somewhat better :)

“Morning, Count Drinkula,” Frankie teased as she came down to find Grace at the kitchen counter, a martini glass between her fingers.

“It’s after lunch, Frankie,” Grace sighed, taking a sip from the glass as she let her eyes take in what Frankie had chosen to wear today. She was already in her paint-stained overalls, meaning she must be headed out to go work in the studio. Figures.

“You know, now that I think about it, my painting of you isn’t entirely accurate anymore. It needs a facelift,” Frankie said. She chuckled, mostly to herself, as she gathered the contents of a bowl of fruit and yogurt.

Grace glanced down at the martini glass as she pictured the painting in question. The one that Frankie’s friends had so bluntly compared her to at the art show. “Oh?” She bit her lip. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, although you and that glass are still attached at the hip, you’re not the wicked vampire of a woman I once thought.” Frankie said, glancing back at Grace with a smile as she grabbed the whipped cream from the fridge.

“I’m not?”

“No, you’re not. You’ve gone soft, Hanson.” Frankie waved the can in her direction emphatically before spraying a bit in her own mouth and putting it back in the fridge.

She sat down at the island, and was facing Grace as she began to eat. For the most part, she was too invested in her breakfast to notice that Grace was calmly watching her. Grace barely noticed she was doing it, honestly, until Frankie looked up and met her eye and flashed her a toothy smile.

“You should let me paint you,” Frankie said. She swallowed the last spoonful of her food and got up to go lay the dishes atop her growing mountain of dirty ones.

“You want to… paint me?” Grace asked, not sure if she had heard her right. She laid down her glass and gripped the counter. The proposition felt too personal, too intimate. Frankie looking at her - _really_ looking at her - for an extended period of time… to recreate her image? That would be… something.

“Well duh, that’s what I just said. I’m headed out to the studio now, if you’d like to join me.” Frankie straightened up and looked at Grace with a mischievous smile, giving her a once over as she rinsed her hands in the sink. “Oh, I’ve got some great visions of what to do with this piece, girly. Hoo, I’m excited.”

Grace then watched as Frankie ran off out the door in a frenzy. She knew that if she didn’t follow her out and oblige her, she’d come back and pester her until she did - or worse, make another unflattering portrait of her. At least if she went and let Frankie paint her, there might be some chance it would turn out okay.

When she got out to the studio, Frankie was shuffling through some canvases, she assumed to pick out the one for the new portrait of Grace. She cleared her throat to grab Frankie’s attention.

“Oh, you actually came out here. Ok, hold on,” Frankie pulled out a canvas to work with and laid it on her easel, than brushed past Grace to grab a stool. She placed it sort of in the center of the room, a few feet away from where she worked.

“Now, I’m going to get everything all ready, and you just get comfortable,” Frankie said, pointing at the stool. Grace sat down carefully and crossed her legs, waiting. She absentmindedly glanced around the room at all the paintings of vaginas. Frankie’s pride and joy, she imagined.

“What are you doing?” Frankie barked as she turned around, which made Grace jump in her seat. She hadn’t done anything yet, why was Frankie upset?

“What?”

“When I said ‘comfortable’, I meant more than that, sister. If I’m going to really capture the essence of Grace Hanson, you’re gonna need to bare it all for me.”

Grace swallowed. Surely, Frankie didn’t mean… “You… want me to pose… _nude_?” The last word came as a whisper.  
  
Frankie nodded, then went on mixing paints and picking out appropriate brushes.

Grace knew there was a reason she didn’t want to do this. Her and Frankie had gotten incredibly close over the past few years, but sitting there in front of her - naked - and having her look at her, _really_ look at her - naked? How could she… but this was just for art, right? Maybe Grace was just imagining some other connotation, stemming from her own mixed and confusing feelings that had been growing for the woman across from her. She could do this, it was just for art. Plus, Frankie wasn’t about hyper realism or anything, the nude posing was probably just some more of that hippie bullshit she spouted from spending time in one of those nudist colonies or something.

“Are you sure? I’m no spring chicken,” Grace said, touching the button on her collar, but hesitating to go further. Frankie peaked out from behind the canvas and shot her a look that she knew was saying something along the lines of “when do I joke about art?”

With a lot of shaky nerves, Grace slowly undressed herself, trying not to look at Frankie while she did. Frankie wasn’t going to be looking at her like she was some piece of meat, like a man might, she knew that. Hell, the woman was always insisting that she was like some sort of goddess, but that just had to be some friendly exaggerated flattery. Then again, Frankie wasn’t about flattery for flattery’s sake.

“Is this…” she swallowed. “...is this fine?” She crossed her legs and rested her hands folded on top of them like she had while she was still clothed. Frankie shot her a smile, and she could swear she saw a tinge of red in her face.

As the time went on and Frankie began painting, Grace was almost able to forget that she was posing in the nude for her best friend. Her best friend for whom she had complicated and confusing feelings. Frankie had a boyfriend though, and she was really into him, she wouldn’t possibly share those feelings.

“Stop moving, Grace. You’re throwing off my artistic energy,” Frankie grumbled, as Grace tried to straighten back up from where she hadn’t realized she’d slightly slumped. It had been hours - the better part of the afternoon - and she wished Frankie would hurry up and tell her that she was done with the painting already.

“Ok, I think that should do,” Frankie said after about another half an hour had passed. She peered out from behind the canvas and smiled at Grace, taking in one last sweeping glance before leaning back to compare with her work.

“Can I get up from this stool now?” Grace asked, and after she got a thumbs up from Frankie, she got up and all of her self-consciousness rushed back to her. Standing up was different than sitting still, posed. She wasn’t just sitting there naked anymore, now she felt like she was parading around as she picked up her clothing and redressed herself. She tried to do it in the most conspicuous way possible, and when she was done, she walked over to meet Frankie by her easel.

“Can I see the… uh, masterpiece?” Grace laughed, chewing her lip. Frankie nodded and Grace twisted around to the other side of the canvas. She was floored by what she saw.

“ _Frankie_.”

“What do you think? Be honest, I can take it,” Frankie replied, not breaking her gaze from her artwork.

Grace stared at the new portrait of her, which surprisingly graceful and light, but even more surprisingly, fully clothed. Frankie must have really seen her like a goddess, because that’s how she had chosen to represent her - but again, fully clothed.

“Why did you ask me to pose nude?” Grace asked in a low whisper, her stare burning into Frankie. “This is… not nude.”

“I told you, I had to see the real you. I can’t gaze into your soul through layers of clothing, Grace.” Frankie shook her head, looking back at Grace as though the question was completely ludicrous. She turned to go put away her palette and brushes, and left Grace standing there, dumbfounded.

“Plus, you’ve got a rockin’ bod, and a cute ass,” Frankie said, winking at Grace and lightly smacking her on the behind as she walked by and out of the studio.

As she stood there staring blankly at the new representation of herself that sat on the easel, Grace tried to process what had just happened. Maybe she had misunderstood just how Frankie felt about her.


End file.
